


Broken People

by sunbean72



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And I don't think the Avengers are mean, And bruce wouldn't sign the accords but he'd support them, Angst, Avengers Feels, Break My Heart, But in this story they will be, Canon divergent after CA:CW, Civil War Team Iron Man, Gen, He DOESN'T want to be the Hulk, He doesn't like to be forced to be the Hulk (thanks Natasha and Wanda), He's only there sometimes, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, I live to serve, I mean he wants to retire that's why he helped with Ultron, I plead the 5th, I'll do my best to be fair to team cap here, I'm going to go ahead and make Peter a member of the Avengers, Listen I don't think Tony would put up with a lot of crap from anyone, Officially, Post Cereal!, Post Civil War!, Post Haste!, Post Poster!, Post facebook post!, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Thanos, So I kept Thor and Bruce out of it, Tony Stark Feels, Tony gets bullied a bit, Whump, and a sad ending, and in light of the circumstances, angsty, at least I'm assuming as much, because despite Thor losing his temper i'm sure he would NOT put up with shenanigans, but in the spirit of the prompt, but the prompt was not very team cap friendly, finds a way, from the trailers it looks like the team isn't back together until Thanos, if angst/whump isn't your thing, just selfish, post SM:HC as well, that should have been made clear, the prompt was very specific, then back away slowly, though he's on an as need basis, uh, yeah - Freeform, yike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-03-04 04:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13356606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbean72/pseuds/sunbean72
Summary: Written for a lovely friend on tumblr who requested a story based on a prompt. The song inspiration is Broken People by Logic & Rag 'n' Bone Man





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh oops accidentally published this from draft I mean here you go youre welcome

"I think something is wrong with that Tony Stark guy," MJ piped up, seemingly apropos of nothing, shoving half a pop-tart in her mouth. Strawberry. No frosting. The girl was a monster. Peter tore his eyes from the book he was studying to glance at Ned, whose eyes had gone wide at the mention of Peter's mentor and fellow Avenger. 

"What do you mean?"

"You know him, right? Because of the Stark Internship?"

"Uhhh... yeah. I know him. I mean, I've met him, like once. For a few minutes."

"Well something's wrong with that guy," she said knowingly, spraying crumbs.

"Like what?"

"I just notice little things. See, watch." She reached over and grabbed Ned's phone, rewinding the YouTube video of a news conference they were watching. "See? Watch his left hand, right... there." Peter watched the video more closely and at the moment MJ mentioned, Tony grabbed his left wrist and rubbed it, and a moment later when he reached for a glass of water, his hand shook briefly. Peter rewound the video and watched it a few more times, contemplating and buying himself some time to respond.

"That's weird," he said finally. "But yeah, like... he's probably tired or something. It doesn't mean anything is wrong. I mean, he's Iron Man, maybe he hurt it on a mission or something no big deal." He tried to brush it off.

"That's not the only thing though, and not the only time. There's lots of--"

"I didn't know you were a Tony Stark stan MJ!" Ned laughed. "Are you like, obsessed with him?"

"You don't have to be obsessed with him to see it! The guy is on every magazine and every news story and every website, app, and social media site known to man. But who wouldn't stan him? He's saved, like, a billion people. And you saw that video of him holding that puppy HYDRA had been experimenting on. I mean... come on. But anyway, I told you, I'm just very observant. I'm kind of surprised no one else has noticed, but not like, _shocked._ "

"Like... what else have you noticed?" Peter asked, trying to remain casual. But MJ was smart, and she _was_ observant, and if she said something was wrong with Mr. Stark she might be on to something. It was probably a matter of time before she figured out his secret identity, actually. And he tried to always listen to her, because she was super smart and almost always right about stuff. 

"Well like... that thing he does with his arm? He does it a lot. And after Captain America fled the country, you can see a change in his appearance." Warming to the subject, she pulled up a couple of more videos and made Ned and Peter watch them. "See? Here he is after the accords are signed. Here he is after the fight at the airport, you can see he's holding his arm funny. Right there. And now... here he is like a week later. See?" 

Peter studied his mentor's face, and seeing the images side by side there were some obvious changes. He was more pale, tired looking, and of course injured. The black eye had been given to him by the Winter Soldier, who was the same guy with the awesome metal arm but not really, Happy had explained it to him that Bucky Barnes wasn't dangerous but the Winter Soldier was and it was like... Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde type of situation or something. All that was after the airport. The images from a week later looked way worse. "How come I never saw these before?" 

"I had to really look around. Tony Stark was definitely avoiding cameras and the paparazzi. These were like, scrubbed from the web, I could only find screenshots. I suspect a conspiracy!" She finished triumphantly and Ned laughed.

"Well, anyway, that was forever ago. The Avengers are back together, they all fought that woman alien... Supergiant."

"Ug. Don't remind me. Triggered!!" Ned said, clutching his chest. "Don't say her name, I swear it's like she's still in my head sometimes." Supergiant was some sort of telepathic parasite, who used her mind control on a large portion of the population to make them fight the Avengers. She could also devour the psyche of those she mind controlled, and a lot of people had died before the Avengers had gotten their act together and stopped her. It had been scary and hard, trying not to hurt anyone who was innocent, trying to keep from being mind controlled, and being part of a fractured and broken team to do it all. Nearly half the population of earth had been mind controlled, including Ned and MJ, forcing them to work against the Avengers and the other agencies that had tried to stop her. Wand Maximoff, Vision, and Tony Stark had had to work together to stop her. Mr. Stark had learned that she was part of a bigger threat called the Black Order, but with Thor still MIA, they had little to go on.

"Okay, but what I'm saying is, these are all old videos. Look at this more recent one, where he and Spider-Man are saving those people from the high rise after the explosion. He looks pretty good there."

"That's what makes it a conspiracy, genius," MJ said without malice. "He _seems_ okay. But the signs are still there if you're watching for them. He's still avoiding cameras except if he's in his Iron Man armor. He still has problems with his left hand and arm. He looks sick or something. Something's wrong with that guy, and the government is trying to keep it a secret."

Peter stared intently at the images for a few more moments before affecting an eye roll. "Sure MJ," he said. "You're such a walnut." 

They changed the subject to the midterms they had coming up, right before spring break. People were way more stressed about tests since it was senior year and everything was a big deal, and Mr. Stark had hardly called him in for anything so he could focus on school. Peter wasn't worried about his grades, but Mr. Stark said it was all part of a life experience he should have, and besides Spider-man wasn't super necessary with the team back together. Peter vowed that he would spend his spring break at Avengers compound. It would be good for team building and whatnot, and plus he would be able to see how Mr. Stark was _really_ doing. He knew that Ms. Potts and Happy would be keeping an eye on him and all that, and Mr. Rhodey, but he somehow couldn't shake the feeling that, despite MJ being a chaotic neutral at best, she was on to something about Mr. Stark and something was wrong.

...

"You have a visitor, Boss." FRIDAY flickered the video feed onto his holographic display, briefly obscuring his view of the project he was working on, showing Vision opening the door for the high schooler. 

"What's the kid doing here?" Tony asked himself, picking up a rag to wipe the grease off his hands. 

"He's arranged to train with the team for the next two weeks. You spoke with him and May Parker about it three days ago."

"Did I?" He murmured, trying to remember. FRIDAY didn't answer, understanding the question to be rhetorical. His prodigious memory had been failing him lately, only one of several symptoms that had worried the AI assistant, but Tony had no patience for her when she brought it up. He seemed to think she was overreacting to just about everything. He'd altered her coding three times to make adjustments, and it was true that FRIDAY had gotten oddly paranoid since the Supergiant incident, falsely flagging innocent things as security risks. Pepper had left a mandarin orange from her lunch on his desk and FRIDAY had locked her out of the lab and blocked her calls. Sam Wilson had to come down and tell Tony about the problem, and it took Tony two hours to fix the glitch. Tony's memory problems had therefore gone largely unnoticed or dismissed by the other members of the team.

Tony stood up slowly, a dull ache throbbing through his body as he moved. He was stiff from sitting too long, he thought, but he knew it was more than that. Helen Cho had warned him after Siberia that he would need some time to heal from his injuries, but it was taking even longer than she had anticipated. Tony stretched and shook his wrist so his watch would fall into place, showing him a later time than he expected. It was past dinner. Huh. He felt a twinge; the team hadn't called down to him, but they'd agreed that he needed to be responsible himself for joining in on team activities. It had been the therapist's suggestion that they let him live with the consequences of his choices if he missed out on things, big theme with the guy, consequences. He said that the past must be left behind, and from then on they would start with a clean slate and be accountable for how they treated each other. Which was fine. It was good. Things were, they were, it was fine. 

His body still aching until he warmed up with movement, he took the stairs to the main level. A pink sticky note greeted him at the top of the stairs, stuck to the door by the doorknob where he couldn't miss it. "Hey Tony! I kept you a plate, it's in the microwave." Vision. He didn't come to most of the therapy sessions, he said he didn't understand them and perhaps he wasn't human enough. Tony tended to think the opposite-- Vision was too human, too full of the good things about humanity, the way he'd intended Ultron to be. He embodied "faith in humanity restored," with none of the bitterness, the cynicism. He didn't hold grudges. He didn't even really blame anyone for the way they were, their failures or shortcomings. He accepted it with the same good nature as everything else. Tony thought it was probably a good thing that, as yet, he'd never seen Vision angry, because that would be a sight to behold and probably his last one.

He stood at the door, staring at the note. Somehow it made him miss Thor and Bruce. Tony had almost been relieved to fight the alien woman, imagining that it would bring Bruce out of hiding or information on where Thor could be, but no. No, they hadn't come, there was no information. He'd felt their absence intensely throughout the conflict, they all had, and he forced himself to consider the possibility that they were dead. If Supergiant wasn't enough to bring them back to the team, there was almost certainly nothing that would and the only thing that could possibly have kept them away was death. He had so many questions for his missing teammates. He wanted to ask Thor how he dealt with his brother's betrayal. Ask Bruce how he learned to control his anger. Mostly, he just missed them. 

He sighed and started to throw the note away, but after a moment he folded it and put it in his pocket.

He opened the door, studying a notification on his smartwatch. Pepper wasn't going to make it tonight, but they had known she probably wouldn't. He stepped into the main area, still reading her note before looking up, blinking owlishly in the bright ambient light. It was much brighter here than in the lab with all the computers and holographic displays more easily read by dim light. "Hey, Tony," Sam Wilson greeted him. The rest of the team looked up and nodded or waved a hello but didn't speak to him. He went to the kitchen, wondering if he was hungry enough to deal with The Awkwardness that had settled in over the past couple of weeks since they'd been living on the compound together. But it wasn't in Tony's nature to avoid problems. He typically tackled them head-on, and if this wasn't the kind of problem resolved by tackling, well... he was doing his best. He had, what would you call it, faith? That they were all doing their best. He opened the microwave, but it was empty. 

He stared at it a moment, confused, then went to the fridge. Maybe someone had put it in there. But no. Whoever had cleaned up had apparently tossed his plate of food.

"Sorry," Wanda said, and she did look a little sorry, but her cheeks were pink. Tony felt an itch of a suspicion she'd known exactly what she was doing. "I didn't think you'd be up tonight and it was beginning to stink up the place."

Tony didn't respond except to turn back to the fridge and grab a few things to make for himself. The rest of the Avengers were talking quietly or watching TV.

Tony stared at the ingredients he'd gotten out for french toast, already a queasiness starting, his hunger diminishing. He'd be damned if he didn't eat though. He would. _Fight this,_ he told himself sternly. But in the back of his mind, he knew-- eating, not eating, sleeping, not sleeping, all of it was pointless. He was slipping. He knew it was. He'd been there often enough to know. 

He was losing his sacred strength, and he was alone.

He was more gentle with Pepper and Rhodey about it, this time. With himself. Sending Pepper away with kisses and tight hugs instead of pushing her away emotionally. Being the friend he always meant to be to Rhodey, supporting him, putting his needs first, joking around and strengthening him, adding more and more duties to his already full roster so he didn't have time to worry about Tony, didn't have time to notice any problems. The guilt was there, sure, but not the shame. He didn't not tell them anything. He couldn't be sure he was dying or anything, he was just tired, just really tired, and he was tired of worrying about it.

He whisked the egg, listening absently to the other's conversations, ones he was rarely invited to partake in. That didn't bother him much, actually. It was really good in some ways. He smirked to himself as he envisioned melting away like the Wicked Witch of the West, slowly disappearing. Instead of the dramatic screaming, he could just... well, he was probably fine. Just not sleeping well, probably.

Steve Rogers was Making an Effort™ and so edged his way over to the kitchen. Tony glanced at him, his sickened feeling increasing. Tony had gotten help, a lot of help, in order to get over the Winter Soldier and work with James Barnes. It wasn't that he couldn't understand or didn't get that Barnes was under duress and brainwashed and had no control and all that. It just... didn't matter. It was him. His hand. His abilities. Guilty by reason insanity was still guilty. It took some time for Tony to adjust, that was all. He was assured that was perfectly all right, everyone understood, no one blamed him. Repeatedly assured. And he had, through a broken and bleeding heart, gotten over it. Worked with Barnes.

There wasn't enough help available, that he was aware of, to get over or get used to working with Steve again, however.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note of explanation: This entire fic is mostly from Tony's point of view. When I was deciding how to approach it, I asked myself how an abuse victim would perceive certain actions and tones of voice. I don't think that Steve or the rest of the team were ill-intentioned towards Tony beyond the fact that their relationship is currently dysfunctional and awkward and resentful, maybe/probably toxic. They might not be acting with deliberate malice, that's up to the reader to decide, but Tony's perception of their actions because of the history of trauma and abuse (as a child and then as an adult with Stane, who was a father figure to him, and, to some extent, Steve, Wanda, and Natasha) would be more extreme than a 'healthy' person without that history. Compound that with anxiety, PTSD, and depression, you've got a very brittle emotional state. Tony had been doing well as we saw him in SM:HC, but the fight with Supergiant mentioned in the first chapter has shaken him. He faced his fear of fighting a stronger force and had to work with the ex-Avengers without working out their problems. He's in a bad place and there's a reason for it.

_Since Siberia._

That's how it always started. Oh, it was true, it circled around quite a bit, found a place to land, but that's where it started. Since Siberia.

 _Since Siberia, my chest has been hurting again. Since Siberia, I can sometimes hear Obidiah Stane's footsteps outside the lab. Since Siberia, I've been having nightmares about Afghanistan. Since Siberia, it seems like missing JARVIS has gotten ten times worse. Since Siberia, I've been afraid of shadows._ The damnable misery of it all was that he _had_ been making progress, slow but steady, until Supergiant came along and suddenly everyone was just _there_ and the alien parasite pressed on his mind and it was like someone pressing a needle into a nerve, and now everything was _since Siberia_ all over again.

Siberia, it... That had been years ago now. After all he'd been through, that hour of his life had reduced him to something weak and pitiful, and he raged at it, but it did not good and was of no use except to make him feel more tired. He still felt the chill of the air sometimes, then would come the burn of anger. He was stronger than this, he was stronger. He was stronger than a lot of things-- stronger than a hole in his chest the size of a fist. Stronger than the betrayal and assassination attempt of his mentor and father figure. Stronger than palladium poisoning, and a maniac with a vengeance kink. Stronger than losing everything, or so he'd thought, but he'd had more to lose and just hadn't realized it. Losing the armors, the mansion, Pepper, everything that the Mandarin had taken, he'd survived. Even if it was only just. He'd just survived. But he did. And now, since Siberia, it felt less like surviving and more like slowly dying.

"How are you Tony?" Steve said with an encouraging smile. But Tony could see, he knew Cap would know that he saw, the smiled didn't reach his eyes, it never did anymore and it probably never would. Tony delayed an answer by taking a long drink of water. 

"Good, thanks for asking." Tony paused, wondering how his voice sounded to Steve. Was it carefully polite as he intended, or had it come out as dead and monotone as it sounded in his own ears? He switched the glass he was holding from his left hand to his right, knowing it would shake otherwise as he set it down. "Where's Vision? Fri saw him letting Peter in--"

"I'm not sure," Steve replied with a small frown of thought. "Vision told me he had to go to the city for a meeting. If he let the kid in maybe he went to his room first."

Tony picked the whisk back up and started beating the egg again. He added a couple more, figuring the kid would be hungry because if there was one north star of constancy in this world, it was that Peter Parker was hungry and always would be. 

Rogers hadn't moved off; he just stood there, being awkward, and Tony felt the first scraping nails of anxiety claw at his ribcage. It was weird. It was so weird. When everyone in the world adored someone he hated, and didn't hate. Emotions had become hard to hold on to, hard to define. It didn't escape him that Steve Rogers had, at times, been a good teammate, a good person, solid and loyal and smart. He'd saved people, he'd cared, he'd carried more burden than was his share. It almost made it worse, it was worse, that he was that good man most of the time. It made everything that happened with the Accords and then Siberia seem more purposeful, deliberate. Tony had felt spinning out of control, free falling and hurting the entire time. Then when he'd realized Steve had kept the truth about his parents from him, he'd reacted without thought, his pain and grief and betrayal driving his every move. He'd tried to talk about it with the therapist, how Steve Rogers was the Star Spangled Man with a Plan and he'd had two years to formulate some kind of explanation or response if Tony ever found out the truth. It was hard not to take it personally that he either hadn't cared enough to plan what to do, or he did exactly what he planned which was protect James Barnes no matter what the cost.

The... the cost. The shield slamming across his chest. His dad, his dead father, his murdered father who had been taken away from him before he could fix things it's what he did, he would have fixed things with Howard Stark, his father had made that shield to protect Steve, who in turn would protect the lives of the innocents, and he used it to destroy the one thing protecting Tony, the arc reactor--

Tony fumbled, his anxiety clouding his vision as he tried to remember what he was supposed to do when this happened. Some kind of breathing thing, if Bruce were around he could help him, probably, or not, it might be worse, did he forget how to breathe? That was stupid---

He dropped the whisk and when he tried to get it, knocked his water glass and it spilled water everywhere before it fell off the countertop and shattered at his feet. Everyone's heads snapped toward him, their eyes landing on him, weighing him down. He felt a blotchy flush creep up his neck and suddenly hated them all, so much.

"Is there a problem?" Steve asked. "I was just asking how you are."

"For Loki's sake, Stark, what's wrong now?" Natasha asked, coming over to help clean up the glass.

"Nothing," Tony responded sharply, pulling the rag out of her hand with a jerk and giving her a resentful look. 

"I was just teasing," Natasha said in a low voice. He hated that, how now he felt dumb and ashamed. But he did not want _her_ help, and she was supposed to be respectful of his boundaries. She of all people ought to know what it was like for him. She'd rooted around in his personal files enough. He couldn't help but think that every time she was being kind or on his side that she was leveraging for something to use against him. It had taken him some time, after Siberia, to realize that she probably knew about his parents as well and it had been almost as hard a blow as when he found out about Steve. She frowned, watching him carefully, making him feel like always that she could read his mind, and he glared at her.

"Who said anything was wrong? I just dropped a damn whisk! No need to bite my head off."

"No one's biting your head off." Sam said reasonably as he came around the counter, grabbing a plastic bag for the glass. "Here. Want some help?"

A 'no' was rising in his throat with a bitter, impatient edge but he swallowed it down. He knew that he was being unaccountably angry at the moment, something he'd been asked to work on. "Try not to act so mad all the time," the therapist had suggested. His temper had been worse, since--

_Since Siberia._

"I got it, thanks," he said to Sam Wilson with an attempt at a smile. Out of the returned teammates, Sam had tried hardest by far to try and mend fences. When Tony had tried to express his regret for hitting him with a repulsor blast after Rhodey fell, Sam had accepted the apology without giving him a hard time. He had just smiled and forgave him, something that had made Tony feel equally better and more guilty about it. He couldn't help but feel suspicious that the man, famously loyal to Steve, was only trying to get on his good side for Steve's benefit. This also made him feel guilty. Tony finished cleaning up the glass and tossed the whisk in the sink and got another one out. His chest, his arm, his body ached and he wasn't hungry, he didn't want to eat anymore. 

Natasha and Sam started chatting about something and moved away, but Steve didn't; he just stayed there, his presence solid and warm and taking up too much space while Tony did his best to ignore him without seeming like he was. "How's Pepper?" Steve said finally, in an easy tone as if nothing were wrong. "She was talking about Mexico."

"Yeah, she's down that way for one of her charities, the... health clinic, I think." Something about an asthma treatment clinic. "We were hoping she'd be back today sometime, but it looks like she'll need a few more days."

"That's really great!" Steve enthused. 

There was something that almost felt like creation, like science, math, when he cooked. The idea of adding a small but measured amount of ingredients-- a bit of this, a smattering of that. The precision it sometimes required, but at the same time the license that allowed for a difference in taste, in opinion. French toast had to be one of the simplest things on the face of the planet to prepare, and yet it still had its pitfalls. There had been the fiasco with the vanilla once, but lesson learned. He'd been ten years old and had thought that anything that smelled that good must be delicious, and the more the better. It had been a kind of golden time in his childhood; he wasn't a resentful teenager, and Howard was still abusive but hadn't completely given up on him so there were still good times. He'd laughed with him when they tried Tony's "recipe," and helped him make a new batch, sans an entire bottle of vanilla. They'd worked on the car that day, right before he left on another expedition to try and find Captain America. He'd come back angry and dejected, like always, like always--

His attention was drawn back to the moment by the awkward silence growing between him and the man himself. _It's not Steve's fault,_ he heard the therapist's voice in his head say. _Even in your mind, you can't hold Steve accountable for your Father's mistakes._ Tony dragged his eyes from the milky, eggy concoction in front of him to Steve's blue eyes, tinged now with the beginning of impatience, of sternness that was always sure to make Tony dig in his heels and push his buttons.

Steve sighed, just slightly, not so anyone could hear, not that anyone would notice. But the mercurial genius was on his list of things to fix, to make right from before. He hadn't done anything _wrong,_ per se, his intentions had been pure, but he hadn't planned on Tony ever finding out about Bucky and his parents and that had hurt his feelings which he would never have done on purpose. He was trying to make it right, and yet his every attempt was met with a determined wall. He had sent Tony the letter in good faith, explaining why he felt the way he did and acted the way he had, apologizing for hurting him. He'd promised to be there for him if he ever needed help, and they had recently fought against a common enemy as they had once before-- together. Steve had kind of assumed that now his team had signed the amended Accords, everything would be fine again. Bucky was out of cryo for good this time, spending a lot of time getting the help he'd always needed. Wanda was more sure and secure in her power than ever before, and Natasha and Clint the dynamic duo were back in sync. Vision and Colonel Rhodes were a vital part of the group now. The kid was getting better every day, safer for him and everyone else. Everything was going well, except for this, except for Tony. At this point, after everything they'd been through, it was hard to see it as anything but a deliberate sabotage against the team. _The_ team, _their_ team, what Tony had always wanted so desperately and Steve was here, trying to give it to him and he _wouldn't._

"Looks good. Are you making enough for anyone to have some?" Steve tried again, catching a brief flinch of a frown from Tony. 

"Sure."

"That's good, I'm starving!" A voice called from the elevator. They both glanced over as Peter Parker walked in, yanking the headphone out of his left ear. "What?! Breakfast for dinner? Yay!" He grinned in enthusiasm and the two men smiled in return, Tony's face momentarily brightening.

"Hey kid," Steve said. "How's it going?"

"Fine sir thanks for asking. Mr. Stark, sir! It's good to see you! You weren't here last time I came."

"I was--"

"Always busy in the lab." Steve joked with a knowing eye roll. "How was your math test?"

"Got an A. And in PE we had to watch a Captain America video," he added with a mischievous smirk. 

"All right," Steve said dryly. "I did those as a favor _one time_ and now I have to keep hearing about it from a smart mouth kid from Queens."

"I don't have a smart mouth," Peter protested. "Ask Mr. Stark, everyone knows I'm not smart at all."

"Suuuurre," Tony said with a small smile. "Dumbest person I ever met. Super dumb, not bright at all." 

"Like I said. So it couldn't be a smart mouth you heard, I'm completely innocent. What's this, french toast? Can I help? I'm starving!"

"So you mentioned," Natasha said as she came back over to the kitchen.

Tony pulled out his phone and looked at the time. He loved having Peter here, but he hated it. Hated that Peter was forced to act as a kind of buffer. That his innocence and enthusiasm were used to curb the resentment, the awkwardness. Already he was regretting that he agreed to let him stay for two weeks. He didn't know now if he could maintain the facade for that long of a time. It would certainly mean more team togetherness time, and with Pepper and Rhodey gone, he didn't know if he had the emotional fortitude to do it. _Stark men are made of iron,_ his father's voice reminded him, but it didn't help, he didn't feel stronger, he felt haunted by ghosts. 

His anxiety thrummed through his body, low key. The panic attack that had begun didn't escalate but didn't go away either. It felt odd, part of him yet foreign, like the energy of the arc reactor once upon a time. He felt naked to the rest of the Avengers, vulnerable, as if any of them could see how fragile he was if they looked close enough but of course none of them did, none of them knew none of them noticed. Tony felt the tightness in his shoulders precipitating another headache, and he tried to force himself to relax. He couldn't punish Peter either. He needed to develop his role within the team, and that meant spending time here, training and whatnot.

He finished whipping the ingredients together and started soaking the bread, and Peter insisted on cooking it himself. Tony coached him a bit on how to make sure it was crispy on the outside and like custard on the inside, not too soggy. Though they had eaten not long ago, the rest of the team soon joined them, enticed by the warm and sweet smells of the cooking food. A sparring match broke out between Clint and Natasha over whether syrup or powdered sugar with unhealthy amounts of butter was a more appropriate topping. Tony watched their smooth movements, calculated to show their prowess and prevent injury to their partner. At times they even made contact, but each pulled back, each moved with careful precision. 

He forced down a piece of french toast, the sweet food sticking in his throat and sitting in his stomach like a stone. Around him, the team he'd always wanted and hoped for talked and laughed and ate together, apparently unaffected by the absence of Thor, of Bruce, of Rhodey, of Vision, of T'Challa; even Scott Lang had fought with them against the alien Supergiant, but he'd gone back to his family after, signing the amended Accords as a reserve member of the Avengers. It was what he'd wanted so desperately and yet, and yet--

Since Siberia, this was nothing short of torture. Surrounded by the people who had hurt and betrayed him, joking and laughing with Peter Parker, _his_ Peter Parker. He knew he was being weak, being stupid, being selfish. The world needed him to get along with these people, and they had politely ignored him at worse and were openly friendly to him otherwise. Since Siberia, none of them had done anything overtly hostile, and yet--

There had been a few pranks. No doubt good-natured in intention. No one was trying to hurt anyone. It was really Tony that needed to stop being so sensitive when they were trying to include him in the group again, they pranked each other all the time.

There was the hot sauce in his food, they'd had a good laugh about that. Well, Tony hadn't been able to laugh, his entire mouth burning to the point it made his eyes water. Clint had thought that fairly amusing. But Tony probably would have enjoyed the joke a bit more if he'd been able to, there was no way for whoever had done it to know that he hated hot sauce. 

It's true that he hadn't been terribly amused by someone shutting off the hot water while he was in the shower. It wasn't terribly funny to him when he went to his wardrobe and found that all of his clothes had jello in their pockets. True, he had plenty of money to get them all dry cleaned, it wasn't a big deal. Well, one shirt getting ruined was kind of a big deal, it had been one Pepper had picked out for him when he first got back from Afghanistan and had lost so much weight and gained so much muscle he had to buy new clothes but that was not that big of a deal. He was not a nostalgic person. It was getting frayed at the sleeve anyway. He had do buy clothes before a meeting and it made him late, but it was true that he was able to make up an excuse and it wasn't too big of a deal.

And granted when they had all started making fun of him at dinner, he should have had a better sense of humor about it. He didn't _think_ they meant to hurt him, they were just teasing him, but some of it hit a bit too close to home. Clint had jokingly said he was practically an evil genius and he'd taken it a bit personally, maybe, and Wanda had thought it was hilarious and said a few things that might have crossed a line, a bit, and when Steve was laughing too Rhodey got pissed off and there was a bit of a tense little "all right, everyone calm down, that's enough," from Steve but then no one was smiling or laughing anymore and it was pretty clear that they were kind of mad at Tony for getting his feelings hurt. That still hurt and he knew, he knew, he knew. It was his fault.

He stood there, holding his plate to put it in the dishwasher. He hated himself. He hated, he hated himself. 

"Mr. Stark? Hey, Mr. Stark, are... are you all right?"

Peter's question snapped him back to reality, to the present. "Yeah, I'm fine kid, why?" He asked with genuine puzzlement. 

"Oh. I-It's nothing, sir, sorry." Tony put his plate down and started to walk away. "Actually sir. It's... uh, it's your arm. Is it... is something wrong with it? And you look kind of tired." Tony automatically grabbed his left wrist, glancing to make sure none of the others were listening.

The were all chatting and didn't appear to be paying attention to the two of them cleaning up. But Tony saw Steve turn his head just a little bit to catch their conversation better. "I'm fine," Tony snapped, he wasn't angry at Peter, poor kid, but he wasn't allowed to be mad at anyone else, wasn't safe to, and the fact that Peter had noticed and said something when no ones else apparently cared just made him _mad_. He clenched his jaw and shook his head, his breathing faster for a moment until he controlled it. "I'm good," he said more evenly, but he didn't like how Peter was studying him. "I'm _fine,_ but thanks for your concern doctor spider. Ice cream? Are we doing ice cream or nah after french toast?"

"Yes ice cream, duh," Peter responded, allowing himself to be distracted. 

So Tony ate the ice cream, chocolate with crushed oreos, and forced himself to relax and chat with everyone. When Peter was going to go to his room for the night, Tony told the others to have a good night, that he had some things to finish up in the lab. He checked his messages, texted Pepper good night, answered a few of FRIDAY's questions for Stark Industries, and promptly threw up everything he'd eaten. The vomit was unexpected though he'd been feeling sick since he ate, he barely made it to the sink. It was a terrible wave of nausea that left him weak in the knees, shaking, afraid. Things were getting worse and he knew he should see Helen Cho but he just didn't want to face her when she always expected him to party and flirt and be the Tony Stark the newspapers sold and he just didn't want to try to do that, didn't want to have her looking at him in pity, didn't want the team to know and they would, they would. He held his stomach and managed to drag himself to the couch, where DUM-E offered him a blanket and a sleeping pill he couldn't swallow but fell asleep anyway, giving in to the headache that had been threatening all day.


	3. Chapter 3

The nightmares go like this:

Pepper is with him. She looks at him with a familiar expression, one of both relief and anxiety, full of reproof and pride, a growing smile of tenderness and he reached for her but as his fingers brush her shoulder her arms turn into wings, golden and iridescent, and she rises up like a phoenix burning and she's not looking at him, her hair is flames and he can't tell if she's in pain and then she's gone and he's looking for her but mired, slowed, moving as though weighted down in water. (She's in the air, weightless; he's stuck, slowed, in water, in earth.)

Everything is dark; Pepper's flame was the only light and now she's gone and it's very dark. He starts to feel cold, like winter's chill, (Pepper had been the only warmth too it would seem) he starts to be afraid of all the darkness as it presses around him. There's pain in his chest like a burn and he claws at his shirt, tearing it, and there's an arc reactor now but that's wrong, it was removed, he'd had it removed. It casts its bright and bluish light, striking at the darkness but everywhere he turns there are still shadows and he tries to light it all, there's something wrong and hiding here, but he can't light it all.

The light falls across a figure, casting shadows on his features like a child with a flashlight, a glint off glasses-- "Yinsen!" Tony tries to say, but his words are muffled, thick, he can't speak.

He looked pale and bleeding, as Tony had seen him when he was dying, but his frantically beating heart created too much movement and the shadows flickered on his face, it was impossible to see, to tell. "Tony Stark," Yinsen said with his slow smile, his careful gaze, his measured concern.

"Yinsen," Tony said again, his voice breaking on the name. He wanted to tell him so many things, tell him so much of what had happened in the ten years since they'd last seen each other. That he was a better man, he thought, than the one he'd been in the cave. He wanted to tell him all about Iron Man and the good he'd done, the lives he'd saved, the wrongs he'd made right.

A shadow behind Yinsen shifted, and three more figures appeared, then some smaller ones. The three soldiers that had died in the humvee, all of them torn to shreds with bullet holes and shrapnel, all of them looking at him inquisitively, as if he had walked in on them having lunch and wondered if he would join them. The other figures-- Gulmirians, a woman, a man, a child, killed by bombs, cold blood dripping from their wounds. They didn't seem angry, they didn't seem anything. They were in a dry land with no water, they ate dust for food and they never healed from their wounds.

"Yinsen," he choked, he choked; the waterboarding, the sensation of it filled his lungs, but it was dry and cold here as a place that never knew sunlight and they all stayed here in darkness with no stars, a darkness his light could not penetrate, could not conquer, and a slight noise near him made him turn, startled.

It was the Vankos, Ivan and Anton, Ivan with his smirk, that knowing anger. Another shadow, this one large, this one big-- Obadiah Stane. He gave Tony the same smile he'd given him when he found out about the arc reactor-- indulgent, contemplating. He's burned, his face is burned, his body. He looks at Tony like he will devour him. Raza. Killian.

Then Maya, the demon he never meant to create, with a hole in her chest, a surprised and hurt look on her face, and he remembered when the light in her eyes died and what he'd said about her soul. He reached out for her to, to what, he didn't know, apologize maybe and there was something dark on his hands, sticky, it was blood it looked black, and he looked up again and Coulson, blood dripping from his mouth, down the front of his shirt as if the wound was new and fresh, he never did make it to the cellist in Oregon. Then there was Howard and Maria, his father, his mother, their heads bleeding, their eyes surprised afraid as they had been when they died, his mother with dark bruises on her neck, they had all died, their wounds had never healed, never would, and instead of living with phantom pain _Tony_ lived with their pain, their wounds--

"No," Tony said hoarsely, and it was getting colder. It felt like hell but he was cold, so cold. They all walked toward him, silent, not even a whisper, their hands stretched toward him, the grasped at him, their touch like ice, "NO!"

It was Steve, as he'd last seen him, as an enemy, but as he'd come out of the ice-- blue and pale and cold and frost on his eyelashes and his blue eyes blank and focused on the fight, the battle, on stopping Tony at any cost, no matter the cost, and Tony had a knife and he stabbed Steve but they both started bleeding, _double-edged_ , he thought idly as pain burst across his palms, becoming warm then cold and slick then sticky as the blood clotted and cooled, and cold, cold--

It was the Winter Soldier, the bottom of his face covered with a black mask, his eyes dark, black, all shadows his metal hand grasped his throat, so cold he couldn't breathe, and Yinsen walked closer, looking concerned. "Are you going to go quietly? After all?" But he couldn't defend himself, he was pinned like an insect, as helpless and hopeless as he'd ever been and he gave in, _let it come,_ he felt himself go limp, his bloody hands sliding off the metal arm, _let the darkness come,_ and the arc reactor flickered, its light dimmed--

He said up, again surrounded by darkness, his body shaking with fear and cold, his skin aching. It _was_ cold, not only a figment of his nightmare. He tried to orient himself, staring at the shadows in terror as his mind slowly came back to reality.

"F-Friday, l-lights," he said, his teeth chattering. The lights came on but oddly and for a moment he thought he might still perhaps be dreaming, still having a nightmare because the light came uneven and flickering, wrong, but the moments passed and he came more to himself and no demons appeared. "Friday?"

"Yes Boss," she replied, her voice softer, slower, as if he'd woken her up which made no sense and was not possible. 

"Are you sick?" But he'd already stood up, going to a computer and pulled up her program. "Let's see. Stick out our tongue and say 'ahh.'" But his hands were shaking, trembling like he was withdrawing from alcohol. He clenched his fist, the fall out from the nightmare, his worry for Friday, the cold, the physical pain in his arm and chest, all of it and something else he couldn't define and couldn't fight pressing down on him.

"Running self-diagnostic," Friday said. He swiped at the display instead of trying to type on the keyboard, trying to force his racing mind to focus and be distracted by this new problem. He tried a few deep breaths and steadied himself. He pulled up the lab settings and turned the lights on, turned the thermostat up; it had defaulted to 53 degrees. 

"What's this, what's this?" He murmured to himself. Friday's code was constantly evolving within the parameters he'd set; it changed, it learned, but mistakes were not an expected outcome. Glitches and bugs were supposed to be a far-fetched possibility, less than a percent, yet the proof of something wrong was staring him right in the face. "What's wrong my gal?"

"I'm not sure. I feel slow, Boss." Tony made a sound of sympathy. 

"Okay, dear, let's shut down all non-essential programs. Quaranteen any discoverable problems." He started going through her lines of code, watching her search through them. The screen scrolled impossibly fast, finding a few lines of broken code that shouldn't have caused any malfunction but also shouldn't have been there. He pulled up a contingency program meant to scan for threats of virus or malware in the case that Friday was compromised. He watched her power down, felt the warm air of the furnace begin to warm the too-cold room. 

"Are you okay?" He murmured to her, JARVIS' sister, the one constant, the one who was always there regardless. His. He possessed and created. He freed and she came back to him type of deal, his daughter, born from his brilliant mind. Despite his fear for her safety, he felt something close to relief-- this he could handle. This he could fix. This was something to put his mind to work on, maybe it would even be a bit of a challenge. This kind of problem was a kind of godsend.

"Sure Boss," she reassured him. "There was a glitch in my protocols that I'm currently reviewing. Sorry for the freeze out! Now you know how a popsicle feels." 

He sat down, the high stress and anxiety draining from him, leaving him weak, shaky still. Images from the nightmare stuck in his mind like clots of darkness, spiderwebs. 

"Where's Peter?" He asked. "Where are we, what have we got going?"

"He's in bed asleep. It's only 2236."

"That can't be right." He looked at his wrist, which was watch free at the moment. 

"You're right. It's 0236, sorry Boss."

"Fri girl, what's going on here?" He murmured, coming more properly awake and pulling up more of her code. It was like a needle in a haystack, and him here with no magnet, but more worrisome than the glitches themselves was the fact that they were even happening. As an evolving program, there was definitely times he had to tweak things, but this shouldn't be happening.

He was awake a good portion of the rest of the night trying to find the problem. He wasn't 100% sure he'd fixed it, but there had been a particularly difficult bit of tangled code that he thought might have been the source of it. He checked the cameras in the main room around 0700 and saw that there were a few people up and about. He watched the screen a few moments, feeling the weariness in his shoulders from sitting at the computer for so long, for the lack of sleep. He wanted to want to go and be with the team. They were trying. He thought they were.

"Stark! Stark, quit sulking and get up here." That would be Clint; too early for the coffee to have kicked in, so he was a bit saltier and a bit more mouthy this time of morning. Tony felt a little torn between being irritated that the man had no regard or apparent regret for his treatment of Tony and grateful that he didn't pretend to be sorry when he wasn't, like most of the rest of the team. He opted most of the time to go with the latter, more optimistic view, though he'd never told Rhodey what Clint said in the raft, not wanting to add "Responsible for the death of Clint Barton, beloved Father and Loyal SHEILD Agent" to his resume. It was honestly easier to deal with Clint than some of the others; a consistent jerk was better than the fake smiles and awkward moments with the others, usually. "Team training, you agreed to it." Clint was lying on his back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and giving the small camera in the corner and evil eye. "I have stuff to do this afternoon, so let's get the show on the road." Clint treated him like garbage, but at least his tongue was usually in cheek. They were firmly assholes to each other and had a relatively steady peace because of it. As peaceful as you could get when you weren't sorry and didn't forgive the other person but were ready to move on.

Tony shuffled to the sink to run his fingers through his hair. A shower would be helpful, but not if they were going to work out anyway. 

"Boss, reminder to take your meds." Tony saw in the mirror a brief look of confusion, his brow furrowing. 

"Right." He kept forgetting, the doctor said that was normal. He started to recall-- it helped with, helped with what again? His temper. Or anxiety, he couldn't remember which one. "Friday, what--?"

"Toracital, Boss. Remember? You take it every other week. It's to help treat your chronic insomnia, anxiety, and acts as a mood stabilizer," Friday said patiently. Apparently this was not the first time he'd forgotten.

"Right," he repeated; it was coming back to him, this was something she'd told him before. He picked up the bottle. The little stickers warned against mixing the medication with alcohol, stopping or starting it abruptly, mixing it with other sedative amnesiac medications, and warned that it may impair some memory functions. He frowned. He couldn't remember agreeing to take such a medication; what if it interfered with his abilities to function as Iron Man? If he forgot something really important. That could be really bad.

"Friday, how--"

"You've been taking it since the battle with Supergiant exacerbated your PTSD symptoms Boss; you had started drinking again. It's been about six months ago now. The doctor wants you to keep taking them for now."

"Right." He opened the bottle and stared at the small green pill. It must be helping him-- he hadn't even thought of a drink, and after yesterday that would be a pretty good sign (all things considered). He changed his shirt, pulling on his athletic workout clothes-- long sleeved, which he pushed up to his forearms, and trudged up the stairs. No note from Vision, or anyone else today. Vision wouldn't be due back for a few more hours, most likely, if he wasn't back already; it was likely he got caught in morning briefings or meetings.

He was in time for breakfast this time; light fare since they would be working out.

"Hey Mr. Stark!" Peter greeted him, as always, enthusiatically. He smirked at the energetic teenager. There was no such thing as light fare for Peter; anything less than a buffet table was just a snack.

"Hey kid. Sleep well?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Stark. I hope you don't mind but I taught Friday a couple of things-- nothing bad!" He added hastily as Tony raised an eyebrow. "I told her how Karen and I play video games and she wanted to learn. I'm still beating her at Mario Kart but I think she lets me." That got a genuine laugh from his mentor, making him grin widely.

"Tony, good to see you," Steve Rogers said as Tony picked up a coffee and protein bar. Tony didn't miss the slight look of disapproval over Tony's appearance and he felt a squirm of annoyance that could easily flare into anger. He was supposed to be working on that. _No one can_ make you _angry,_ the therapist told him. _It's your choice how you react to others actions._

"Good to be seen," he said. "What's the pla--"

"I'd like to be seen too, even if I looked like I dragged myself out of the gutter," Clint remarked to no one in particular, gaining a smirk from the immaculately dressed Wanda Maximoff. She was rocking her workout clothes, her hair perfectly coifed. Natasha must have been giving her some tips on looking lethal in more ways than one. 

"The plan is warm up with paired sparing, then we'll work on some communications scenarios, then we'll do some simulation. I noticed there was some lag time last session."

"It is the old people who are lagging," Wanda said teasingly, her Sokovian accent prominent today. It often was after a day of therapy. "It is difficult for them to keep up."

The team continued their light banter and finished breakfast as they moved to the sublevel that housed the workout room. Tony had worked with some old SHIELD contacts to make it state of the art, and this time it didn't come out of his pocket. It was paid for from a fund from the Accords, where UN members helped to maintain the facilities of the heroes that were available to help them as needed. It had been a sticking point for some UN members; they felt a bit peevish about giving money to a group that included Tony Stark, a billionaire, and T'Challa, whose wealth was indeterminate but supposed to be close to a trillion or more. The man could literally wipe out all poverty, starvation, homelessness, and probably a great deal of health problems worldwide. But he didn't feel like he owed anyone anything, and while he subsidised the Avengers' efforts at his pleasure, he refused to outright bankroll it and Tony had learned what a trap and money pit that could be and maintained that his money was best spent on his philanthropes, arguing that a conflict of interest could arise if he were responsible financially for the team. 

The truth was, he had done far too much for far too long for far too little gratitude and recognition and he and Pepper had come to an understanding that the new iteration of the Avengers would not be his financial responsibility. The team and the UN councils had all registered their protests, but in the end, after Supergiant, there was suddenly much more willing to invest in the initiative. Tony didn't know where the money came from, he didn't want to know. All he ever wanted to do was help people, and maybe this way it could be more his focus.

It had one unintended side effect, however. He, outside of his Iron Man persona, was quite expendable. That might not be a bad thing, Tony thought; he might someday get out of this, if any of them got out alive. After their brush with the Black Order, he wasn't counting any chickens.

He'd fallen behind the others, sipping on a cup of coffee, too tired to have much energy yet. Peter, of course, had bounded ahead and was already swinging around the room, annoying his teammates. Steve was waiting by the door. "Tony, might I have a word?"

"Sure," he said automatically, his defenses already raised, the word barely escaping his mouth. 

"It's about last week's session when you were paired with Sam. Is there a problem I'm not aware of?"

"No." Tony's brow furrowed, confused. "Did Sam say something?" 

Tony and Sam's relationship was... complicated. Sam somewhat blamed himself for dodging Vision's blast in such a way that it hit Rhodey. It wasn't fair to Sam and it wasn't right, but that didn't matter. He'd seen Rhodey fall, unable to help or save him after working for months training with him. He and Rhodey had been friends and worked together closely, having a lot in common. He'd been plenty mad at Tony for the whole RAFT imprisonment, but when Tony reached out to help Steve, he'd placed his trust in him, knowing that Steve and Bucky were likely over their heads. When they'd gotten to Wakanda and Sam had seen Bucky's arm blasted off, Steve had said that there had been a skirmish with Iron Man in Siberia. Sam had immediately become enraged, angry that Tony had lied about going as a friend, but Steve had brushed it off. _It wasn't all Tony's fault,_ he'd said, but had utterly refused to expound on what had happened. It wasn't until much later that Steve had explained that Tony had found out from Zemo about his parent's murder. Sam had known as well, of course, and had empathized with Tony's anger and aggression towards Bucky. He'd been the most genuinely civil toward him since they had regrouped, but Tony knew that Sam was unequivocally loyal to Steve Rogers and had dismissed him as a friend and ally based on the strength of that loyalty alone. 

"Well it's just that when I was watching the footage, to analyze it, you know... it seems like you weren't really putting in much effort," Steve said, watching Tony's face.

"What's that mean?"

"Listen, Tony. I don't know what you've got going on in that lab. Maybe you're just tired, or distracted by something. I know you said in therapy you weren't drinking anymore."

"I'm not," he said frowning. 

"Sure. It's probably nothing, but when you were sparring, Sam hit you every time. It's kind of a waste of his time and yours if you show up and don't even try."

"Right." Tony thought back to last week's training. Sam had gotten him, it was true. The man was younger, stronger; he had a healthy heart, a fit body not placed under the years of strain and punishment and torture that Tony's had. But it hadn't been that long ago that Tony was able to hold his own against most members of the team who weren't enhanced but lately he was just so tired. He wasn't just tired. He was... he was weak. His strength, the muscles in his body, they just... they weren't what they used to be. "Okay."

"Okay you'll try harder?"

"Yes! Give me a break, I just _said_ okay," he responded resentfully.

"Okay," Steve replied with a slight edge of sharpness. "Just making sure everything was okay. You've committed to giving a better effort with the team," he said, his voice reverting to one of patience. "And I need to make sure you're safe, and the team is safe. It's my responsibility if anything happens to the team--"

"Yes, I get it, Rogers," Tony snapped, pushed a bit too far. _NOW he's worried about what happens to the team,_ he thought.

Steve sighed, long-suffering as ever. "Look, it's fine, you don't have to get upset," he said patiently. Tony thought he might not have a problem sparring today because he was getting pretty angry. "I know you have a lot on your plate at the moment--"

Tony pushed past Steve. He knew he'd probably hear about it later in a therapy session, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. He'd never live up to the perfection that seemed to constantly be demanded of him, in any case, and he couldn't find the energy to care at the moment.

"You're with me today," Steve called after him. "I just need to know if you're up for it."

"Great," Tony muttered, his stomach twisting viciously, not bothering to reply to Steve's parting comment.

For a while, the session was going well. Peter was sparring with Wanda, and the two of them were an interesting match. Tony kept an eye on the kid, but the two youngest members of the team got along pretty well together. Peter brought out an interesting, more playful side of Wanda, and Tony couldn't help but wonder if he made her think of her brother. Tony hadn't known Pietro at all, but Clint had said that he was a funny and likable person, a description that applied readily to Peter. 

Peter was having fun, as he almost always did when he trained with the Avengers. It was somewhat reassuring to his mind that though he had fought some of... most of... nearly all of these people at the German airport, they had been nothing but welcoming and helpful to him-- it seemed that all was forgiven, though of course none of them had tried to hurt each other. It would be nuts to have a team where people had tried to harm other members. 

Wanda was getting tired, he could tell. She was crazy powerful, but he was fast and strong, and he found that he could generally guess what she was going to do a moment before she did it, giving him an added advantage. He was getting better, but so was she, and he was finding himself more and more thankful that she was on their side; she was a formidable opponent, more so than Steve Rogers, more than even Iron Man, whom Peter thought was the best person on the team. Tony wasn't as strong as Wanda; he was something else. He fought with all his heart; like his heart was broken. He kind of knew what that felt like. Uncle Ben's death still felt as raw and painful as the day he died, sometimes. 

Wanda's technique had evolved since the airport by quite a bit. Even the characteristic scarlet mist that always accompanied her every move looked altered to his enhanced senses. It had taken on an almost purplish hue, a scarlet mixed with a hint of blue. He'd mentioned it to Hawkeye but he couldn't see it, he wondered if Mr. Wilson could see it with his goggles on. He'd have to remember to ask him later, though it wasn't a big deal just interesting.

Peter pulled up his mask to take a drink of water while Wanda took a breather. He found himself watching Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers as they sparred. He could hardly remember ever seeing the two of them teamed up like this; only once before since they team was reformed, and not for very long-- within a few moments, Mr. Stark was practically snarling at Mr. Rogers, and he'd looked genuinely angry and almost afraid. Who knew what that was about. He certainly hadn't been afraid of Captain America at the airport, only angry. MJ would probably have a lot of speculation about it, but whatever it was about, Mr. Rogers hadn't spared with him again until today.

Mr. Rogers was teaching Mr. Stark a hand-to-hand fighting technique. They were going through the motions of it really slowly, building a muscle memory for it. "One, two, three, four," Mr. Rogers counted out the sequence of the movement, meant to defensively protect and actively disarm the opponent. "Good. Watch your side on the backswing. Again."

Peter took the quiet moment to watch his mentor closely. If MJ was right about something being wrong, Tony Stark had done a good job of hiding any symptoms of it from him. He seemed cheerful and pleasant, if a little on the quiet side; it was true he was much less talkative than he'd been known to be, but that could be normal. Under the guise of getting a towel, he moved closer to watch the pair. They hadn't been at it very long, or very strenuously from what Peter could tell, but Mr. Stark was covered in sweat; it was already soaking his hair. There were a couple of other things that he started to pick up on the longer he watched and he felt a growing sense of _concern,_ a foreign and uncomfortable sensation. Even in the heat of battle against Supergiant, Mr. Stark had seemed strong and in control. To think of him any other way was not pleasant.

His left hand shook whenever it wasn't clenched into a fist. In fact, his whole body seemed to tremble slightly, though that could be from exertion. Peter concentrated, allowing his supersenses to tell him more. He didn't always consciously notices everything his senses were telling him; there was somewhat of a filter. It was not difficult to tune back in, as it were, as long as there wasn't too much sensory input to process. He could see... Mr. Stark was pale. His heart was pounding with exertion, but it sounded... strange. Not as strong, somehow, and not regular. There was normal body odor smells, and the slight smells of the lab-- motor oil, smoothies, metallic flavors, the faint odor of aftershave, and something else... something foreign, medicinal. His muscles twitched under his clothing; already tired, already fatigued as if he'd been fighting for hours. Peter frowned. MJ was right. Something was wrong. Mr. Stark's leg seemed about to buckle--

Tony stumbled at just the wrong moment-- just as Steve's fist was moving on the backswing, and Tony caught the full brunt of the blow. Steve had already been pulling his punch, but had thought Tony would dodge or block it as they had been practicing and it was more than a gentle tap. Peter could see in Cap's face that Mr. Stark had been hurt a moment before Mr. Stark fell to the mat.

The strangest thing, in Peter's mind, happened next. He expected the team to be concerned, to be worried. Instead, as the others began to realize what happened and rush over, Peter felt a rush of warmth from their _annoyance,_ as if they were _angry_. Steve knelt down, and he didn't look angry, but grim. 

"Mr. Stark, are you okay?" Peter was worried about the hit he'd taken, but he was more worried now about something else, something that he had just identified, the _strangeness_ he had smelled, foreign thing, the almost alien thing he couldn't identify but now that he was aware of it, it seemed like it was strongest around Wanda, he hadn't noticed before, but now it was inescapable. It scratched in his mind as something he'd smelled before but he couldn't remember--

Mr. Stark didn't answer, the breath knocked out of him. "What the hell was that, Stark?" Natasha said sharply.

"Why are you mad at him?" Peter demanded, his hand on Tony' shoulder. Tony brushed it off.

"Because it was my fault," he said, barely able to push the words out. Peter made an angry, disbelieving sound and Clint shook his head.

"It's true kid. When sparring with other people, it's your responsibility to make sure you're... uh, fit for duty. Stark has a habit of, what do you call it, 'not committing to being his best self for the team' or whatever."

"Who says that?" Peter demanded.

"The therapist," Wanda supplied.

"Peter, this really isn't your concern. Tony understands, right Tony?"

"I didn't sleep well last night," Tony admitted, holding his side and breathing hard. "Something was wrong with Fri--"

"You see? It's the pattern of behavior we were talking about last session."

"I get it!" Tony snapped angrily, starting and failing to stand up. Steve held out a hand, his lips pursed, to help him up, but Tony resentfully ignored it and pushed himself to stand, staggering slightly.

"I did ask you if you were up for it," Steve reminded him. 

Tony looked at Steve, bitterly angry, wondering how fast he could put on a gauntlet and punch Steve in the face before the others could stop him. In his current state, definitely not fast enough. The pain from the blow to his side was radiating through his chest; nothing was broken, not even a cracked rib, but he'd have a nice bruise. It wasn't that he wasn't here to do his best, he just hadn't anticipated that Steve, being gentle and non-aggressive, could still trigger his PTSD of their fight in Siberia. He'd fought it, but all he could feel was cold, all he could hear was the sound of the metal shield being torn out of his chest echoing off the metal bunker walls, all he could see was a blow coming he couldn't avoid, and all he could taste was his bitter anger that the pills weren't doing enough to control. "Thanks for that," he said sarcastically.

"I'm seriously starting to question your ability to fight on this team, Tony," Steve said cautiously. "Maybe it was asking you too much to get past everything." 

"All of us managed to get over our beef, I don't get what his problem is," Wanda said quietly but loudly enough for everyone to hear. 

Peter stood up. "Mr. Stark didn't do anything to any of you!" He burst out, unable to help himself.

"Kid, you don't know what you're talking about," Clint said patiently. "You don't know the politics that were involved, you don't know what the rest of us went through because of him. Shock collar? Anyone? Ringing any bells?"

"Mr. Stark would never--" Peter said, aghast. They were accusing his mentor and hero of terrible things, but Tony wasn't looking at him, wasn't defending himself. He was looking out the window, frowning. He looked like he was in pain, so much pain.

"Let's be honest here, you never wanted me back on this team," he said finally. "None of you did."

"That's not true," Steve snapped, his temper rising. "You're always trying to blame us for everything, Stark. Everyone here hoped that you'd be able to function as part of the team. Iron Man is an asset--"

"Iron Man yes, Tony Stark no, I've heard that one before," Tony interrupted, sounding tired, closing his eyes briefly.

"If we're having a pity party instead of sparring, I'd like to pop some popcorn, get a drink," Clint said drolly. "Cereal or something, I'm not going to rehash the same old thing on an empty stomach. Cap, watch where the hell you're punching, Stark, get your head in the game."

"I don't think we should just drop this," Wanda said. "This has been going on for too long. How long are we supposed to try and fix this?"

"However long it takes," Steve said. "However, I am not known for doing things for the sake of doing them. If this isn't what you want, then just say it."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Tony said through gritted teeth. "I've shown up, to, to _everything_ they've asked me to. Right?"

"It just seems like you want everyone else to make the effort, Stark. Like you were the only one who was hurt, the only one who lost anything," Natasha said. "It was rough for all of us, but your the only one dwelling on the past! Everyone else here wants to move one but you won't let us!"

"No," Tony said, shaking his head, still holding his side. "It's not like that. Mr. Parker, please go upstairs, this does not have to do with you. This shouldn't be on your shoulders. Go, please, we're just talking, it's okay."

"No, sir," Peter said. "With all due respect sir, I'm not leaving. I _am_ a part of this team and I won't leave you here--"

"Peter," Tony said more sharply. "It was not a request."

"Why shouldn't he stay, Stark? Are you worried you'll get knocked off your pedestal? Like you said, we're just talking." Tony didn't know who said it, they were all beginning to sound the same. Blame. Anger. Heat in their words. 

"We should all take a break," Sam said quietly; knowing full well, he knew full well what had happened almost two years ago in Siberia, he'd heard from Steve about it, the rest had heard in therapy sessions but it all seemed so long after the fact, and after they'd fought together as a team again, it didn't seem like it should still hurt and they blamed him for it but Sam didn't, he'd been there when Steve was still bleeding and knew that Tony still was, he still was.

An alarm sounded then; for a moment they were all so surprised that they could only look at each other blankly. It was unexpected, as there were rarely surprises when it came to missions involving the Avengers. They had intel, they had warnings, they people to handle these types of things. "Priority call from Everett Ross. He requests the Avengers help as soon as possible. Terrorists possibly associated with a HYDRA splinter group have taken oven a building and are holding hostages with an unknown weapon."

"All right, go suit up," Steve snapped instantly and the group started to move. "Tony, not you," Cap said firmly, arresting the rest of the group as they turned to watch the scene unfold. "I'm sorry, but you're not fit for duty."

"I'm fine," Tony said with a dangerous edge in his voice. "And _you_ don't get to make the call even if I weren't."

"You're not going, Tony," Steve said firmly. 

"Who will stop me?"

"No one would, Mr. Stark," Peter cut in.

"No I can't stop you. I wouldn't even try. And maybe I don't have any authority over you, but I will say this. We don't want you there. Not like this. You're a liability, and all you're going to do is get yourself or a teammate killed. If that's really what you want, I can't stop you. But just look at yourself."

"Is this really the time?" Sam asked. "We just got a priority call. We can't talk about this when we get back?"

"No," Steve insisted. "Not this time. There's always a reason why we're forced to put it off. The therapist said it. It's a codependency thing, right?"

"Stark we can handle this without you."

"You've _got_ to be kidding me right now. If it weren't for me, none of us would have survived the last mission and now you're grounding me?" Tony said, angry incredulity on his face.

"Come on Stark, figure it out. You're a liability. You're not wanted. You're not part of this team, maybe you never really were except when we were fighting aliens. Ever since then, you've basically made our lives just as miserable as yours and caused more problems than you've solved," Wanda snapped, finally able to give voice to something she did not dare to say before. It was like a poison being release, or an abscess being lanced. They had all seen Tony spiraling, and the most recent encounter with Supergiant had only made things much worse. Sure he'd helped a lot when it came to that; they might not have been able to defeat her without him, but then again they may have. There was no real way to know.

"That's enough, Wanda!" Steve said calmly. "Tony is a valued and integral part of this team, but we all get off our game sometime. Get going." The team started to move again, with only Peter hesitating. "Stark, do what you want, you always do anyway." Steve walked away at a brisk trot.

Tony sat down on the mat, sweating and breathing hard. He glanced up when he realized Peter was still standing there. For a brief moment, Peter saw a look of grief and pain cross his mentor's face, before he waved Peter off. "I'm okay, kid. Go on, this will be good practice for you. Stay back, listen to Cap, and... don't get hurt."

"Mr. Stark, I--"

"I really am only going to say this the once. Go. On." There was no room for argument. No room for anything, actually, the affection, the love, the hero-worship, there was no room. He was just a child, still, just a kid, the things that Tony and the Avengers and everyone was facing just seemed too big for him to do anything about. Peter felt a pain in his chest as wide and deep as when he found out Uncle Ben died. He had no reason to react so strongly, he told himself, but it was there, out of his control, part of him and still outside of him, this fear and grief. Something was wrong. Something bad was going to happen. He could feel it.

Tony tried to take a deep breath, tried again. "It's all right, Peter. Cap's right, I need a breather. Okay? Go quick before they leave without you."

Peter hesitated but obeyed his mentor. What choice did he really have?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp that got long, sorry! And please comment, I need the encouragement...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning this will hurt your Tony Stark feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how long it took to update! Hope you enjoy the conclusion! Comments are always greatly appreciated and welcome :) Dedicated to my tumblr buddy who requested this fic, hope you aimer! (it's french for you!)

It was quiet, now.

And still.

He suddenly realized that it was as close as he'd come to _peace_ in a long time. In a long, long time. He tried to remember--

_Try to remember that kind of September--_

His chest hurt. Not the normal hurt. Something else. Not the punch Steve had inadvertently delivered; something else. Not the grief; something else. He couldn't quite--

_Try to remember, and if you remember, then follow, follow._

He looked around the lab blankly. He didn't remember coming down here.

_"Sir, shall I try Miss Potts?"_ Tony turned at the sound of Vision's voice, but no, he wasn't here, he was away. Probably would be joining the others on the mission fairly soon. His chest hurt. He made for his desk to check on Friday and stumbled, the next moment on the ground. He tried to push himself up; he was tired. His arms wouldn't hold him properly, and after a brief struggle, he forgot why he was even trying to get up.

"Boss, should I call emergency services?" He could vaguely hear Friday. Oh. Good. She was all right then, it was all right. He was worried about nothing. "Notifying EMS," Fri said.

"No," Tony said vaguely, holding his chest, aware that there was something important, but he couldn't remember. "No, don't call them. Don't call. I'm okay." He'd said it so many times before, but this time he finally meant it. He was fine. There was a mansuetude about the lab, an ease of being. Everything soft and receded and easy now. Tony could see what had happened since the Avengers were reunited. Time. In that amount of... time. The minutes had turned to hours, had turned to days, had turned to weeks, months. All that while, Tony had turned into a ghost, emptied. He could feel that; the pain in his chest, it was the emptiness. His nightmares, it was like those. It was probably one of those. He closed his eyes, this time not fighting the darkness when it came.

...

The fact that there were still Hydra goons to fight was a sore spot, that was clear. Peter could _feel_ Cap's irritation growing. He didn't talk to Mr. Ross over the comms but Peter saw them talking and it was clear that Steve Rogers was angry. After leaving Tony alone on the compound, it turned the already down mood of the mission into a more sour one. Everyone was fighting with precision and their usual awesomeness, but there was no banter, no joking, and no joy. It really wasn't as much fun as it usually was.

Vision joined them when the mission was nearly over. The hostages were safe, it was just a matter of rounding up a few Hydra guys who were Not Coming Quietly, but Cap was working out some of his anger issues on them so Peter didn't have much to do. Vision came up to him, also watching the scene below unfold.

"Remarkable teamwork to accomplish the rescue so quickly," Vision commented. "I take it the morning's training was beneficial."

Peter pulled off his mask, running his hands through his hair. After a while the mask made his head itch. "Ha. No. Training was lame today. There was kind of this argument and now Mr. Stark isn't even here."

Vision turned to him calming, his weird robot eyes looking right into his soul, it seemed like.

"Mr. Stark didn't join his teammates on a mission because of an argument?"

"No! It wasn't like that, really. Mr. Rogers had accidentally punched him, then the call came, and he thought Tony wasn't fit for battle or something." Peter suddenly felt guilty, talking about problems that didn't have to do with him, his account of the morning suddenly feeling more like gossip than anything. His cheeks flushed pink but he stubbornly pushed on; he felt like someone who might be on Mr. Stark's side should know what happened. "Mr. Stark wanted to come but Mr. Rogers said he shouldn't."

"Was Mr. Stark injured?" Vision asked, again with his steady and uncompromising calm.

"No... well, yeah. He was down on the mat, but probably not like, _hurt_ hurt."

"And he was left behind?"

"Mr. Stark made me leave, so yeah. The Hydra thing. We had to hurry because of the hostages."

Vision reached up and tapped his ear. "Friday," he said pleasantly. "Report on Mr. Stark please."

"Boss is okay," Friday said. "He's working in the lab."

"Peter," Karen said softly in the com. "I think something is malfunctioning with Friday. According to my interface with her, there's some kind of glitch."

Peter frowned. "I think something is wrong back at the compound. Karen says Friday is glitching. We need to make sure Mr. Stark is all right," he said, his knees shaking from nerves. Something was wrong, he should have listened to his instincts.

"Friday, run a self-diagnostic. Put Mr. Stark on the line please."

"Self-diagnostic incomplete. Sorry, he's unavailable."

"Why?"

"He's working in the lab."

"Override, Friday." Vision glanced at Peter, his own concern growing.

"Unable to override."

"Can you give me visual on Mr. Stark?" He asked.

"Audiovisual equipment malfunctioning."

Vision hesitated. "Perhaps we should check on him."

"Okay great!" Peter put on his mask, his anxiety growing. "Let's go!"

Vision tapped his comm to talk to the team. "Captain Rogers, I can see you're nearly cleaned up here. I will accompany Spider-Man back to the compound to check on Mr. Stark. We are currently unable to get ahold of him, and audiovisual for the for the lab is apparently malfunctioning."

"You just got here!" Natasha replied, breathless. "We've still got active combatants."

"Stark was fine when we left, Vision," Steve said. "We could still use a little help. Spider-Man, could you check the east corridor to block off their escape route?"

"Can't Hawkeye do that?" Peter asked, his heart pounding. Tony was probably fine and then he'd feel like an idiot. He'd never questioned an order before.

"On it," Clint said, an edge of irritation. "We don't really have time for arguments, kid." At that moment, a blast of scarlet erupted from where Wanda was fighting off a Hydra agent. Vision leaned forward, keenly observing the mist. Peter followed his line of sight.

"What?"

"That's... odd. The mist... it seems strange."

"Oh, right. I noticed that too. It's changed color a little, it's blueish, see?"

Vision was silent a moment and Peter fidgeted, eager to be heading back to the compound. "Vision, Peter. Are you going to help us or not?" Steve asked over the comm.

"Negative Captain Rogers. I believe it is urgent that we return to the compound to check on Tony. I will inform Mr. Ross that you may require back up. Would you like me to return with Iron Man if he is feeling better?"

"No," Steve said irritably. "We've got this. But I will put in my report that Tony's behavior was such that not only was he unable to assist us, but two other team members left mid-mission to check on him. This is unacceptable."

"We will see you back at the compound," Vision replied and beckoned Peter toward the small quinjet that he'd flown in. "Mr. Parker. How long has Miss Maximoff's mist looked off color to you?"

"Huh? Oh. Umm... I guess for a while now. I noticed it a few months ago but it could have been longer. I was on hiatus a few months ago because my grades were suffering. Why, do you think it means something?" Peter asked, again pulling his mask off now that they were in the air.

"It might," he said.

...

_I'd hate to break up the set..._ _Better watch your back with this guy, there's a chance he's going to break it..._

_Ultron doesn't know the difference between saving the world and destroying it. Where do you think he gets that?_

_How about Merchant of Death?_ _...That's a first...                     It's true, he hates you the most..._

_I need you...to leave..._

_Hopefully one day you can understand...                                                                                               You come from a family of thieves, and butchers._

_Tony Stark no_

_Tony Stark no_

_Tony_

_Stark_

_no_

_..._

Vision beat him to Tony's side, but only because he cheated and phased through the floors. Peter wasn't too far behind him, though, cheating a bit himself-- he took the stairwell, which allowed him to web down faster than an elevator would have been. The real problem came when he couldn't get in the lab; it was on lockdown. Tony had never taken the time to make the walls phase proof, having no worries that Vision would enter the lab without permission, but Peter was subjected to the same security as all other non-alien-robot-AI hybrids and the doors were locked. Finally, Vision overrode the still glitching and unreliable Friday, using his technopathic abilities, and the door opened and Peter rushed in, tripping over his own feet in his hurry. For a moment, he couldn't see them; his eyes finally found them in the dim light, Vision's vibrant colors and softly glinting mind stone stark in contrast to the dark lab and pale, unmoving figure on the ground. Two of Tony's bots were nearby, oddly silent, moving as if to help but helpless.

"What's wrong with him?" Peter asked Vision as he skidded to a stop and kneeled beside them.

"Listen carefully," Vision commanded. "At the moment, there is no way to call for help from this room, as Friday is malfunctioning and we are too far underground for cell service. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I need you to go upstairs and activate Karen and have her send help immediately from Medical. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Medical was on the compound; they were staffed with the very best medical researchers and nurses and doctors were available for injured Avengers and agents. They weren't far away, they could probably get there pretty fast, although the compound was _huge_ \--

"Do it now, Peter, as fast as you can."

"Okay."

Vision did not watch Peter speed away, but instead reached for Tony's neck, checking on last time for a pulse. A faint throb, barely detectable, unsteady, uncertain, nudged against his fingertips, certainly not strong enough or often enough to supply oxygen to his brain and heart. He gently moved the unconscious genius, completely limp and unaware of his ministrations. He noted that the lack of blood flow had caused Tony to nearly stop breathing well as well, only slow, shallow breaths, his eyelids and lips a delicate shade of blue. "Tony," Vision said, thinking for the first time in a long time that this man was in part his creator, almost like a father. Since they'd stopped Supergiant he'd barely had time to see Tony; because he didn't sleep, the UN and Sokovian Accords tasked him with visiting many of the countries and governments who were part of the agreement. He occasionally came back for missions when they were deemed a higher security risk, but those missions had gone well. He had thought things were going well. What had he missed?

He started doing chest compressions on the near lifeless form of his friend and creator. He had seen Tony near death before, more than once; after Siberia, before they got him warmed up, and when they fought Supergiant and he'd been hit with an alien weapon that the Iron Man armor did not protect him from very well. Helen had tended to several of the Avengers for the same reason. It hadn't felt like this. This felt worse.

Using his technopathic abilities, Vision simultaniously pulled up Friday's broken coding and started to fix it as he gave CPR to Tony. There appeared to be deliberate sabotage to the AI, but what Vision couldn't understand, did not believe at first, was that it seemed to come from Tony himself. The code bore his unmistakable imprint, and Tony was the only one with access, aside from Vision himself. It did not make sense, until a moment came when Vision had a dawning realization as details that seemed to have nothing to do with each other suddenly created a picture and as he continued to do CPR on the unconscious man, he realized how he could have been so blind and stupid--

Peter came back, breathless and pale, crouching anxiously nearby. He was carrying a small red case. "I brought this thing from upstairs, Mr. Stark had them on every floor in case there was an emergency, there's probably one around here but--"

"That's good, Peter," Vision interrupted softly. "Open it up and turn it on." Tony had indeed gone to the precaution of stocking each floor with a mobile defibrillator, although James Rhodes had laughed at him-- there were not many people on the planet more physically fit than the Avengers. _Got to plan for the worse case scenario, buddy,_ Tony had snarked. _You never know when death will come knocking at the door._

Peter tore off Tony's shirt while Vision gave the lifeless genius two breaths-- his chest rose, and fell, rose, and fell. Peter tried not to stare at the scars lining his mentor's chest-- a faint circle where the arc reactor used to be, a line of scar tissues across the center of it, the remnants of the effect of a vibranium shield slamming through a metal suit of armor with all the weight of a super soldier's desperation and anger, a large scar on his right shoulder-- a bullet that had found it's way through the weakness of the mark 1 armor in Afghanistan. Multiple small white scars; where the shrapnel had been. And last a bright red and purple bruise where Steve Rogers had accidentally hit him. Trying to think through the massive amounts of adrenaline pouring through his veins, Peter tried to follow the simple pictures on the AED and put the pads on Tony's chest.

_"Analysing rhythm,"_ the machine assured them. " _No shock advised. Begin CPR._ Vision immediately started chest compressions again, and Peter felt a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. He couldn't remember ever being this scared, not even when the Vulture figured out his secret identity as Spider-man, not even when the weight of a building threatened to crush him.

It seemed like an interminable age before help got there. Vision gently handed Peter his mask as the medical people began to arrive and for once Peter just _didn't care_ who knew who he was, but with shaking fingers he put it on anyway, knowing that it would be important to Mr. Stark, he wanted him to be safe and have as normal of a life as possible, he wouldn't want--

He and Vision stepped back as doctors and nurses and techs flooded the room. Peter felt afraid, useless; Vision immediately stepped to the two despondent bots, comforting them apparently, and ushering them to their charging stations to shut down. Apparently ignoring the continuing medical crisis, Vision stepped to Tony's workstation and pulled up Friday's code. It felt weird, it felt wrong, having all these people here in Tony's lab, his personal and private space; having Vision accessing private or at least secure files, it was wrong, it felt wrong, it felt like Tony was already dead or something.

He didn't like watching but he couldn't look away. His heightened senses picked up minute details he knew he would wish he could forget later-- the sharp, sudden metallic smell he could taste when the nurse started an IV and filled little tubes with blood; the sound of the tension and stress in the voices of those working on him; the sudden warmth in the room from all the people; the sight of Mr. Stark, still unmoving despite everything, everyone touching him and moving him, and he only had glimpses of his still form through all the bodies surrounding him. He just kept waiting for Mr. Stark to sit up, order everyone out, tell them he was fine, but he kept hearing MJ's warning that something was wrong--

"Spider-man," Vision said gently beside him. Peter still startled, turning quickly. "I need your assistance. I believe I have fixed the problem with Friday. I am concerned with some of the information in her database, and I am hoping you will help me find a bottle of pills. They are most likely to be in this lab, but could be upstairs in Tony's room or bathroom as well. I want you to help me find them."

"Uh, pills?"

"Yes. Pills. Can you find them?"

"Umm... yes? But I feel kind of bad going through Mr. Stark's stuff, can't Friday--?"

"Friday's record of the past several months is unreliable Peter, and time is of the essence. I believe Mr. Stark would prefer you or me to strangers or anyone else."

"Okay, right." Vision levitated and then phased through the ceiling of the lab, and Peter tried to stay out of the way while looking for the pills. He moved toward the small kitchen area with a sink, noticing the cupboards where someone might keep pills. It was weird that Mr. Stark was on some kind of medication. He always seemed so impervious to everything, he'd lived through so much, the consummate survivor.

He found the pills in the first cupboard he opened, a rush of relief flooding him that he wouldn't have to snoop through anything else. He opened the top to get a look at the pills, caught a smell of something medicinal, bitter. U was at his station which was in the kitchen area and nudged Peter with a soft whistle. "It's okay," he said, glancing over at the group of people. They were loading Mr. Stark onto a gurney now. He really hoped it was. He walked over to the woman who he thought might be in charge; she was the one telling everyone else what to do.

"Excuse me?"

"Spider-man, hi. Were you here when Mr. Stark collapsed?"

"No, I was with Vision when we found him unconscious and... uh, he wasn't breathing well. Is he...?" Peter couldn't find the right words for the question.

"He's beginning to stabilize, but he's... he's in some trouble. He's doing better with some of the medications we gave him, but until we can figure out what's wrong and fix it, he's not out of the woods. Was there anything near where he was found? Any... any anything?"

"No, nothing nearby. Vision had me look for these pills he was taking, so... here." He handed her the bottle, grateful to be rid of the burden of them. The woman scrutinized the label.

"Mr. Stark was taking these? That makes no sense. Given his history, these could potentially alter his mental state. I don't suppose you know how long he's been taking these?"

"No."

"Of course not. Is there anything else you can tell us about today?"

"We... we had a little bit of breakfast, he had some fruit. And um... maybe a smoothie. Then we were doing some training exercises and he got hit in the chest on the left side, not bad. He seemed okay after, just a little sore."

"That helps. Anything else? Did he seem stressed or overexerted?"

Peter hesitated. "We're always a little stressed around here, but yeah, I would say maybe there was some stress. I didn't think it seemed way more than normal?"

"Thank you. We're moving him to the Medical building now. We'll keep Friday updated now that she's--"

"What the hell is going on here?" A loud voice called angrily from the doorway. "Friday, open this damn door or I swear I'm going to break it--" The doors slid open and the sweaty, unhappy looking Avengers team came into Tony's lab. Vision appeared a few moments later.

"I found what you asked," Peter told him immediately, and Vision nodded his understanding.

"You arrived home more quickly than I thought you would," Vision acknowledged to his teammates.

"We were almost done when you left, we were on our way back when Friday alerted us that there was a medical emergency." Surprised, Peter glanced at the time. More than an hour had passed since he and Vision had gotten back. Time seemed to go so slowly, but it was actually speeding by. "What's happening? What's wrong with Tony?"

"Move!" The tech driving the gurney ordered and the team quickly scattered, making way for them to wheel Tony out. They stopped just by Peter to maneuver the bulky bed to a different angle to get it out the door and Peter took the moment to reach out and take Tony's hand for a brief moment, to squeeze it, and in the next moment they took him away. Peter moved to follow them but Vision raised his hand to forestall him.

"A moment, Peter."

"Was he drinking?" Clint asked, turning back as the medical people left.

Vision gave him an odd look, incredulous and contemplating. "No, I don't believe he was."

"He was fine," Steve said anxiously. "He was just fine when we left. He must have done something--"

"He didn't do anything!" Peter protested, taking off his mask again as the last of the people were gone. He felt his anger begin to boil. "He didn't do _anything,_ something was wrong with Friday. He was just trying to work on that. He didn't do anything!"

"Peter I know you're upset, but you can't know that--"

"But I can. I have reviewed the records that Friday did manage to keep. I'm afraid Peter's right, none of this is Mr. Stark's fault. He is the victim of an enemy."

"Who? Hydra? How?" Sam asked.

"No, I'm afraid not." His kind and contemplating eyes fell on Wanda. "Ms. Maximoff, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come with me to Medical."

"What?" She asked, aghast. "I never touched him!"

"No, of course not," Vision agreed. "Allow me to see your hand." She looked at him fearfully, and Clint shook his head resentfully when she caught his eye. Steve only clenched his jaw. Wanda tentatively held out her hand, palm up.

"See here," Vision said. "Activate your powers, please, carefully." She hesitated again, this time only looking at Vision, and complied. It was the scarlet mist, again tainted ever so slightly with a violet blue.

"So?" Clint asked.

"Ms. Maximoff and the therapist you have all been seeing are being subjected to an influence. Ms. Maximoff has... an infection, of a sort. From Supergiant."

"What?" Immediately they began to protest, rightfully reminding Vision that Supergiant was dead.

"Correct. But what we didn't realize... the alien woman was a parasite, of sorts. Though she died, her powers could still hold influence. I believe that is what happened to Ms. Maximoff."

"But there were millions of people who were affected! Are all of them infected too?"

"I think not, though we will have to do more testing to be sure. I believe Ms. Maximoff's telepathic powers made her more vulnerable than we realized."

"That's... that's ridiculous! We would have seen signs of a problem! And you said the therapist! They were never affected by Supergiant at all! How and why would they be infected?"

"I cannot be certain, but we will have to bring them in for an examination. I believe we will find that when we cure Ms. Maximoff, the therapist will also be free of the infection."

There was a long moment of silence. "You're saying... Wanda was doing something to the therapist?" Natasha asked evenly.

"Ms. Maximoff _may have_ subconsciously influenced the therapist. In her continued ill feelings toward Mr. Stark, she telepathically projected those feelings onto the therapist, who in turn was subconsciously harming Mr. Stark-- emotionally, mentally, and even physically." Wanda jerked her hand out of Vision's.

"I'd never do that. I'd know if I were compromised," she said angrily, but Peter could see that she was frightened. Peter knew that Wanda had been working through her issues of feeling manipulated by first Hydra then Ultron; her good intentions to be a force for good were constantly blowing up in her face. There was no doubt in his mind, after working with her, that she was a funny, warm, and decent person; his best evidence for this was that she could kill them all pretty quickly and easily and probably take over the earth, but instead she chose to fight terrorists and aliens. She must feel devastated that she was once again causing a problem, this time the consequences were extreme-- the near death of an Avenger. "I'd know!"

"I think not," Vision said, as calm and rational as always, while Peter's heart was pounding. He felt agitation within him grow; it seemed so crazy yet he could kind of see what he was getting at, having seen the team together the past few days, it kind of made weird sense. "How could you? I believe that we will be able to clear this up quickly. Mr. Wilson, Ms. Romanoff. If you would be so kind, it is imperative that we bring in the therapist for treatment and questioning. If you are not otherwise occupied, I believe they are still in their office?"

Sam and Natasha briefly glanced at each other, then other members of their team, an unspoken communication taking place. They didn't really believe what Vision was implying, but they couldn't dismiss it either, so they nodded, heading for the door. Wanda drew back at this tacit agreement that Vision could be right, lifting her chin.

Vision put his hand on her shoulder, his eyes kind. "It's all right, Wanda." At his gentle and nonjudgemental words, her eyes filled with tears that she blinked away.

"That's right," Steve interjected. "Nothing that happened was our fault if you're under the influence of this parasite still," he said encouragingly.

"Forgive me, Captain," Vision said. "I don't quite agree. Wanda's continued ill will has been perhaps amplified by Supergiant's powers, but the other members of the team have willfully turned a blind eye to the... abuse that was taking place, as well as participating to varying degrees."

"No one abused Tony but Tony, Vis," Clint said. "I think if anyone has a blind spot, it's you. You've always defended him, ignoring all the things he's done. I'll be the first to admit that he hasn't tried to harm anyone, but that's pretty cold comfort to those of us living with the consequences of his actions. Even if he didn't mean bad things to happen, they _did_ happen."

"Perhaps I _am_ more inclined to defend Mr. Stark. I find him agreeable, and kind. He has certainly shown me compassion and patience. I believe he is one of the best among us."

"We all think he's great," Steve said. "But you didn't even tell us what's happening here. What _is_ wrong with Tony?"

"His heart," Peter spoke up, his voice hoarse, and they turned to him. "I could hear it. Something was wrong with his heart." He swallowed the lump in his throat, giving voice to what he'd heard only made it more real and frightening. His fear and grief turned to anger as he saw something like relief cross Steve's face.

"Oh is that it? So it's no one's fault." Peter knew he must have been worried that their morning spar session had injured Tony more than he'd realized and was thankful he hadn't caused Tony's collapse, but to Peter it seemed unfeeling and callused. He clenched his fist in agitation and Vision put a hand on his shoulder.

"All right," he said mildly. "Peter, I know you have been wanting to get to Medical to await word. Go ahead and go." Like a shot, Peter pulled his mask back on and webbed out of the lab.

"Was that wise?"

"I thought it best that Mr. Parker not be privy to a somewhat delicate subject that I must bring up."

"What's that?"

"That we, as a team, have allowed Wanda's continued belligerence to continue to this point, and not noticed or stopped the continued bullying behavior I have seen in Friday's records."

"You mean us, not we, right Vis?" Clint asked sarcastically.

"Yes, I suppose I do."

"Tony's a big boy," Steve pointed out. "He can take a few digs, and he dishes out as good as he gets. We were in therapy. None of us knew there was anything wrong. We still don't _know_ for certain that anything is wrong, that's just your... educated guess."

"Is it?" Vision asked mildly. Clint and Steve glanced at each other, at least having the good grace to look uncomfortable.

"I thought that maybe the therapist was being a little harder on Stark than the rest of us," Steve admitted. "But I thought it was for his own good."

"Perhaps now isn't a good time to go over this. I wish to be by Tony's side. Wanda, if you would be so kind as to join me, perhaps you two can join us later, after you've had some time to... ponder your role in this. We will have Friday update you as soon as we know anything."

"What _was_ wrong with Friday? Is there any security problems I need to be worried about?"

"No," Vision said, for the first time an edge creeping into his tone. "I don't believe you have anything to worry about at this point. It is my belief that the combination of inappropriate drugs and emotional duress created a situation where Tony was stopping Friday from doing her job. Whether that was intentional as he believed he deserved the punishment he was getting or simply because his mind was altered, remains to be seen. I will say this," he added, turning back when he reached the door. "I will bring it before the Accords council and Everette Ross that Tony Stark not be subjected to unsupervised contact with the rest of the team. If he survives. Perhaps you'd like to reach out to Ms. Potts and Mr. Rhodes, _Captain,_ and explain the situation to them. No? I thought not."

A pale and ill-looking Wanda followed Vision without looking back.

...

Peter felt stifled in his Spider-man uniform. It was beginning to feel hot and itchy, and the material on his face made him feel nearly suffocated. He felt half annoyed at Mr. Stark for making him keep his identity a secret here, but he could kind of understand... He knew that, just in the name of helping him or science, there were people who would like to experiment on him, test his blood, the limits of his strength, stuff like that. Mr. Stark didn't trust anyone with his identity; it was too dangerous for both Peter and anyone who knew who he was. Mr. Stark He paced the hallway, agitated, asking Karen for updates constantly. Friday had an inside track to Medical's technological intricacies, and like everywhere in the compound, nearly everything was recorded. Friday knew what was going on, she just wasn't authorized to tell everyone. It was so frustrating, Peter wanted to scream.

"Peter," Karen said gently. "It's been since breakfast since you ate, more than eight hours ago. You should get some food. I'll let you know if anything changes."

Peter kicked at a chair, not being careful enough, and it shot across the hallway and slammed into the opposite wall, denting it. Oops. He picked it up. There were cafeterias and things, but he hated to eat with his mask half on. He decided to wait a bit longer. He sat down in the chair, which wobbled thanks to his earlier frustration.

"Spider-man," a voice called, making him look up. A doctor was coming toward him with Vision beside her. "Vision has asked me to come and get you and give you an update." Peter stood up and started to follow the woman as she went back toward the room where they were observing Tony.

"I'm authorized to tell you that Mr. Stark has stabilized," she said, offering him a sympathetic smile. "He's not awake yet, but we believe that, like so many times before, his remarkable fighting spirit has defied the odds."

"What was... what happened to him?"

The doctor hesitated. "While Mr. Stark has put you on his list of trusted contacts, I must tell you that this is private health information. You should not discuss this with _anyone_ without explicit consent from Mr. Stark. Do you agree?" Peter nodded quickly and the doctor continued. "Very well. While we are still running some tests and won't have all of the results today, we are fairly confident that Mr. Stark suffered from a heart attack."

"What? How?? Mr. Stark is like... he's crazy healthy!"

"Yes, well... you see. It wasn't a heart attack due to any kind of heart disease. It's a cardiomyopathy that is triggered by stressful situations, and it's believed to be caused by a sudden surge in stress hormones. Most of the time, it is not very dangerous, but several other factors made this particularly dangerous. Of course, the past injuries to his heart have made it more vulnerable. The medication he was taking may have also played a role, but we're still investigating. That, coupled with the training he was doing and the blow to his chest was a perfect storm."

"I'm... what are you saying?"

"It's called broken heart syndrome," she clarified and Peter stopped, his own heart twisting sympathetically. "Again I must impress upon you the importance of not discussing Mr. Stark's medical condition with anyone else. Vision felt it appropriate that you have this information, given it was your concern for him that allowed him to be found in time. Come one, this way, we're almost there."

Peter felt himself kind of start to freak out, which was weird. He'd seen Mr. Stark practically dead, and now that it was all over and it seemed like he was going to be fine, now he was getting all upset?? Something about how she said it like that, _found in time_ it was just really scary.

Tony was laying on the bed, the covers neatly tucked around him, smooth and undisturbed by his movement. Peter stood in the doorway, almost as disturbed by the sight as he had been of Vision doing CPR. He couldn't untangle the thought before he felt the doctor touch his shoulder. "As long as he remains stable, Vision has requested we give you some time with Mr. Stark. You can remove your mask," she said kindly. "No one will disturb you. If you need anything, press this button on the call light. Okay?"

"He's asleep?" 

"Yes, just sleeping. He woke up for a few minutes a while ago, but he's exhausted. He may not wake up. When you're ready to leave, just let the nurse know."

"Okay."

Peter pulled off his mask again, relieved at that, at least. He silently slid into the chair pulled up to the bedside. Aside from an IV in his arm and a mask for oxygen on his face, Tony looked like he'd just drifted off to sleep. He was aware he was taking a liberty that very few people probably had, examining the sleeping man's face. Even asleep, he looked exhausted, his face lined and weary. Peter felt a trickle of hot guilt. MJ had noticed and he hadn't. The unbearable burdens that Mr. Stark had been bearing, probably for months, at the hands of his own team. People that Peter liked and cared about, who were adored by millions of people, who saved lives and were part of an expert team. He'd missed it, and because of that Mr. Stark had been suffering.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. You... you've always been there for me, and I should have been there for you," he said in a low, quiet voice, needing desperately to say the words out loud but not wanting to wake him up. To his surprise, Tony's eyes opened.

"Peter."

...

Vision debriefed the both of them later that day. With the help of the mind stone and Wanda's cooperation, the parasitic infection that Wanda was suffering from had been eradicated. It had exhausted her, but she was also scared and jumpy at the idea that something had invaded her mind, making her do things that she'd never intended, harming people she'd never wanted to hurt. She was shaken, and also the therapist would likely need therapy of their own, having been under a spell of the compromised Scarlet Witch that she hadn't even known she was casting. 

The medication Tony was one was completely inappropriate for Tony's situation and had likely made his life a lot worse in the past few months, affecting his memory, his mood, and his strength. It had undoubtedly weakened his already broken heart.

Vision explained that the team was taking the news pretty hard, and wanted him to express their wishes that he would get well soon. Tony said nothing to this, only his brow furrowed as if with an old pain he just realized he was feeling.

...

Tony wasn't back for a few weeks; the doctor refused to clear him for active duty. The team suffered. Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy became even more militantly protective of Tony, not allowing him to be alone with the team. Missions suffered. Tony struggled. He continued to predict that the real fight was yet to come, though he was still met with skepticism and condescention by most of the team. Peter worked harder than ever at school so his grades were good enough he could spend more time with the Avengers, knowing now his place was by Tony's side so that he wouldn't ever have to face enemies alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The words Tony hears at the beginning of the chapter are from "Try to Remember" by Harry Belefonte; it's the song his mom is playing on the piano during the BARF scene at the beginning of Captain America: Civil War.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N This fic was completed with the last chapter, but for those who felt like there wasn't enough resolution or who needed some fluffy good feelings after all that angst, here is a nice happy chapter to cleanse your pallet. In other words, here's the fluffiest piece of confection you fudgers could ever wish or hope for.

Tony turned over sleepily, the morning sunlight falling across his bed in warm bands of golden light. The window was cracked open and he could hear birds singing and calling to each other. It was late spring, everything coming alive. 

Thanos' snap had destroyed half of all life, including plants and animals. The dismal and gray world left behind from his actions had been terrifying and depressing. Entire species of animals who had been on the verge of extinction died out within a matter of weeks with their environment so disrupted; rainforests untouched by man disappeared in a matter of moments. Lawns, gardens, and crops were decimated. _That evil despot had no regard for lawn maintenance,_ Tony thought, his chest shaking with a repressed chuckle. 

"What's so funny?" Pepper queried, looking up from where she was lazily doing the newspaper crossword puzzle. She lazily stretched as he reached for her, her pregnant belly peeking out from her pajama top. 

"I was just thinking I needed to mow the lawn today," Tony replied, his voice muffled against the down comforter as he positioned his head better for her to run her fingertips through his hair. 

"Hmmm, that would make Morgan happy. He loves to ride on your lap when you mow. But I thought you were going to relax today?"

"That _is_ relaxing, believe me. Besides I want it to look nice when your mom and uncle are here later. Who's cooking dinner, your mom?"

"She wanted to, she knows how much you like that salmon dinner she makes. Why?"

"Steve was thinking about barbequing tonight. Sam said he knows the best grill base, top-secret family recipe or something."

"Oh that would be nice to do tomorrow night! We could invite the Bartons. Morgan has been asking when Lila will babysit again."

"Nathan gets into everything!" Tony protested.

"You know you love it."

FRIDAY flickered a display on one of the windows; it was a view of the kitchen. "What's up FRI?" Pepper asked.

"Captain Rogers asked me to let you know breakfast would be ready in twenty minutes if you're awake," she replied. 

"I will roger that," Tony said, rolling off the bed and stretching lazily. He leaned down and kissed Pepper, then kissed her belly. "You hungry yet, sweetie?"

"Sure! I just need to get dressed."

"Wouldn't be the first time you went down in your pajamas," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but I have some shopping to do after breakfast. I promised Nebula."

"Okay, but today's the big day right? Baby shower? I thought you said it was at four."

"That's right, although it's our second pregnancy I'm not sure I need a baby shower."

Tony rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Just let Wanda do this Pep! She's been planning this thing for months. And yeah, we got Morgan tons of stuff but not enough for twins." He kissed her baby bump affectionately.

"I still think we'd be okay," Pepper said, squirming as his beared kiss tickled her belly.

"Probably, but let the kid have her fun. I think her and Vision are going to start their family soon. Vision has been asked me a ton of questions about being a father."

" _Really._ " Pepper perked up at this information. Tony laughed. 

"Pretty soon you'll be the one throwing a baby shower," he predicted. 

Tony shaved then took a quick shower and then it didn't take him long to get dressed. Pepper had beaten him downstairs still and was chatting with Bruce and Thor while munching on fresh blueberries while Steve finished cooking her omelet. "Hey Tony! Come here and try this," Steve greeted him. Tony fist bumped Sam Wilson in greeting and moved his way around the counter to where Steve was. Steve dipped the spoon in a small saucepan then blew on it a bit before holding it up for Tony to taste.

Tony sampled the offering. "MMmm!! Is that orange spice vanilla syrup?"

"Yep, thought it would be good on the pancakes."

"Don't listen to him Mr. Stark, I told him it's plain old-fashioned powdered sugar that's best on pancakes, he's trying to sway you to the dark side!" Peter Parker piped up. Tony smiled at him and May waved a greeting to him without interrupting her conversation with Natasha. 

Steve shrugged, shoulder bumping Tony. "Tony, control your child," he chided.

"No can do, Cap," Tony joked. "Won't even try. Hey are you busy later, Steve?"

"Not that I know of, why? You need help with something?"

"Yeah, if you're not busy, I was hoping you could help me put together the furniture for the nursery while the ladies are having their baby shower party. No big deal if you can't."

"That would be my genuine pleasure. Not that you need my help."

"Just makes it go faster, many hands make light work and all that jazz."

"Absolutely. Whatever my future godchildren need." 

A rumbling, protesting noise came from the couch where Thor sat, his mouth full of food. "I believe they are only half yours, Captain," he said, not bothering to swallow. "The Stark twins are also entrusted to my care should the unthinkable happen. If anything, it should be me assembling the infant furniture!"

"Thor, you've broken three cradles in three days, time to step back big guy," Sam said delicately. 

"It is best to vigorously test the durability of the beds, Sam!" Thor responded angrily, waving his fork. 

"I'm pretty sure your brand of vigorous testing could stop a tank, Thor, relax on the cradles," Sam retorted. 

Steve grinned at the banter and turned to Tony, who had wandered over to the fridge to get the milk. He felt the familiar pull of guilt and shame that often crept up on him when he contemplated his best friend. It had taken some serious introspection, therapy, and hard work to change his ways until he understood just how damaging his treatment of Tony had been. He didn't deserve his forgiveness, and both he and Tony understood that, but after Steve changed his behavior and sincerely apologized without reservation for his years of abuse, Tony, after some soul-searching of his own, had slowly forgiven him. The two of them had drawn steadily closer over the past couple of years since they defeated Thanos. The trust between them now seemed an unassailable thing, inexorable; it had come at a great cost and price to both of them and both treasured it as a prized possession.

Tony walked by and Steve put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Tony didn't flinch away; he hadn't for years. Instead grinned up at Steve and raised his eyebrows. Steve gave him a small smile and shook his head, unable to articulate in words what he was feeling. Tony knew, though. His expression softened with understanding then relaxed into an understanding and reassuring smile. 

Wanda wandered by and smiled at the two of them. Tony reached out for the pretty red-head and pulled her into a hug. Wanda returned it, squeezing him around his waist tightly. "Viz wants a baby," she said quietly where only he could here. Tony looked delighted and her smile, once so sharp and deadly, was kind and hopeful. "If it's a boy we're naming him Tony. For a girl wanted Antonia." Tony looked taken aback, then touched.

"He or she is going to be lucky to have you as parents," Tony said. "Congrats, kid. Parenthood is awesome. You'll do great."

"Thanks, Tony. I never would have found family, or any of this without you."

Wanda and Steve wandered away to finish cooking breakfast and Pepper came over, nudging Tony's arm until he put it around her. He took a deep breath and let it out. He was happy.


End file.
